Ok so it took me a while to write this. I do have a reason for that though. Well two reasons. One is that I had trouble logging on and the second is just that I was lazy.
There is a particular conversation in this chapter which is spoken compleatly in French. However it is written in English. This is because I don't speak French and didn't want to provide a crappy internet translator version of the language. I'm sure you'll know which one. Hope it's not confusing.

I don't own CSI

Greg followed Brass up to the front door of the small brick house. It was a nice place. Somebody obviously took care of it. There was a garden which followed the edges of the building. Greg, who had never done any gardening in his life, could only recognise the roses. Red, not quite in full bloom yet. The lawn, while perhaps a little over due for mowing, was neat, tidy and very green. They knocked on the door. When it opened, a short stocky man, somewhere in his fifties or sixties appeared.

"Good morning sir. I'm Decetctive Jim Brass, This is Greg Sanders from the crime lab. Is there a...Jimmy living here?" He didn't have a last name for the man that both Sara and Claire had repeatedly told them about, so he elaborated a little. "We got this address from a letter we found at his store, the cafe. There was no last name mentioned."

"You mean Jacques. I'm his brother Paul. He sometimes went by Jimmy. I'm afraid however, that you aretoo late. He passed away yeterday morning. What is this about?" The man spoke softly in heavy french accent. He was curious about what they wanted so soon after his brothers death, but not hostile. He ran a hand through his greying hair as he spoke.

"Oh. I'm sorry. He may have had some information on a crime that was committed recently." Brass did not let his surprise show in his voice. "May I ask, how he died?"

"He had a heart attack about a week ago. He did not pull through." Brass lowered his head and gave the man a small smile in apology.

"I don't suppose you were able to speak to him recently were you?"

"No I'm sorry. We hadn't spoken for around a month, too busy you know. I got a call from the hospital, but he was on life support, he never woke up." Paul began to look very tired. Brass quickly took Jimmy's information from Paul.

"Ok thank you for your help. I'm sorry for your loss." Paul nodded his thanks and closed the door as Brass and Greg left. They walked silently back to the car, both knowing this left Claire's alabi in doubt.

"So her alabi's dead." Brass said after they were back on the road.

"Yeah. I think ah...I think he was Sara's friend." Greg exhaled loudly.

"Yeah."

"I should tell her." Greg said as he pulled out his phone and dialed Sara's number. Brass looked quickly at him then concentrated back on the road, gratefull the young man had taken on the task. Greg listened as Sara's phone rang.

"Sidle."

"Sara. Hi it's Greg. How are you holding up?"

"God I don't know at this point. I guess I'm okay."

"Look Sara I've got some bad news for you. Brass and I spoke to your friend Jimmy from the cafe's brother this morning. I'm...I'm afraid he passed away yesterday morning. He had a heart attack." He heard Sara breathing increase on the other end of the line. "I'm Sorry."

"Thank's for telling me. I'm sorry I ah..I have to go."

"Okay. I'll speak to you soon. Bye." He hung up the phone.

Sara let her body drop to the couch. She had hardly known the man, and considering the current circumstances was unsure if her sudden saddness was due to his passing or the awful situation that it left Claire in. She brought her thumb and index finger up and wiped the tears from beneath her eyes. She took a deep breath and stretched out her fingers against her cheeks. A silent protest against her emotions. If she started crying now she didn't know is she could stop.

She stood up and walked quickly tothe bathroom. Passing Claire sleeping in her bed. Sara was glad she was finally getting some sleep. In the last few days she had not only lost her son sooner than she had expected, but had been arrested for the murders of three men she not even known let alone killed. Sara reached her bathroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was messy, her eyes sat, dull, and tired above dark half circles. She turned on the tap and cupped her hands underneath, collecting the cold water. She bent down and splashed it on her face. Twice. Wiping her face on a towel she realised that she had forgotten to take her meds this morning. Her heart suddenly raced.

"Damnit." She said to noone in particular. She threw the towel on the floor and opened her medicine cabinet. Reached for several bottles, tipping pills in her hand as she went. She stared at the collection of powerful drugs she held in her hand. Hating them for the first time since they had saved her life. How is it that they could keep her going for long after they were expected to, and not her son. Why was she still alive almost twenty years after being diagnosed, when so many, who had recieved the same news at the same time, had only lasted two or three.

She closed her fingers around them in a tight fist, then relaxed her hand and threw them into the back of her mouth. She added water and forced herself to swollow. She picked up one of the bottles and returned in to the shelf, knocking over a bottle of mouth wash in the process. It cluttered to the sink below, taking the pills, a tube of toothpaste and a box of band-aids with it.

"Shit." She said as she tried to grab all four objects and pile them in the cabinet at once. Her attempt failed. All the items fell to the tiled floor.

"Ahh!" She let out a cry of frustration, Reached down and grabbed the bottle. She looked at it in her hand for a moment then flung it at the wall. The plastic container cracked open and pills fell everywhere.

She grabbed the next one off the sink and threw it at the same spot. It didn't break but it hit the wall and fell to the floor, both with a satisfing clatter as the pills struck the sides of the container.

She grabbed another one, and again, hurled it at the wall. This time though her eyes had begun to fill with tears and her vision had become blurry. She missed the wall and the bottle flew out the door narrowly missing Claire's face, who had come to see what Sara was doing. For a moment Sarasaw fear in Claire's eyes. Whenshe had been using, one of the first things she would do when she got angry was throw something. Sometimes it had just been aimed at the wall. Often it wasn't aimed at all. Occasionally it had been deliberatly aimed at the wall very close to Claire. Very occasionally it aimed at Claire. The moment passed and Claire stepped into the room.

"I...I'm..." Sara tried to apologise but by this point she was crying freely. She covered her mouth with one hand.

"Sshh hey." Claire tried to sooth her. "Its okay baby." She placed both hands on Sara's neck her thumbs resting gently behind each ear. Sara slid down the wall of the bathroom, to a sitting position. Her knees bent and her legs drawn up close to her body. Claire knelt down beside her. As a psychiatrist, she knew that different people reacted differently to grief. She also knew that different people needed different types of comfort. And she knew Sara. Sara would always just want someone there. They didn't have to speak. They didn't even have to touch although it helped if they did. So Claire sat down beside her and gently took her hand, lacing her fingers in between Sara's. She lether cry.

After a while, Sara looked up, suddenly remebering something. She stood up quickly, placing her hands against the wall behind her for leverage.Claire watched with confusion as she took off out of the room. She found her in the bedroom. Sara was rummaging through a drawer. She stopped when she found a box, and took it out. Inside the box were photos. Sara took out a paper envelope and handed it to Claire. Inside she saw photos of Joey's third birthday, they had taken him to the beach. She hadn't seen them before. Most of the shots were herself and Joey. Some were just of Joey. Sara wasn't in any, she must have been behind the camera Claire realised.

"I found the roll of film a few weeks after I moved here. Got it developed." Sara said through her dried up tears. As Claire looked through the photos. She felt her composure weaken. By the time she had gotten to the end. The roles had been reversed. Now it was Sara comforting her as she cried. Unlike Sara, Claire needed to be held. So that was what she did. Claire cried for over an hour as they were lying on the bed. Finally she fell asleep. Sara soon follwed. They both dreamt.

Claire's dreams were all of Joey. The day he was born. Red hair, green eyes and virus free. She dreamt of the first time she held him. Looking down at his screwed up little face as he screamed. Then smiling after seeing his eyes when he stoppped.

She dreamt of his first birthday, his smile as he had more fun with the torn paper and empty boxes that his presents had come in then the presents themselves. And she dremt of the day he got HIV. The knife being held under her throat. The man getting angry when he realised she knew nothing about the guy he had broken into her house to find. She dreamt of Mike taking off after he was recognised. She dreamt of the blood that trickled down her throat as she struggled against him to get away. To stop his friend from taking Sara's blood and injecting it into her terrified son. She dreamt of the words he had spoken to her just before they left. "That outta teach Mike to mess with me. See how he likes seein' his son die from that whores disease."

She woke up with a start. She looked over at Sara and saw that she was asleep. She curled up closer to her and went back to sleep.

Sara didn't dream of Joey. She had been doing that every night since he had died. This time she dreamt of Jimmy. The first time she met him.

She slowed her car to a stop as she pulled into the small parking lot outside the cafe. She was half asleep from a long shift and needed coffee. She looked at the door hoping for a sign that it was open, it was. She pushed the door open and walked inside. Before she had even gotten to the counter the man behind it spoke.

"Let me guess. You want coffee. Oui?" He had startled her and it took her a moment to decipher the words through his accent.

"Ah Oui. I Suppose you get alot of that at this time of night." She spoke to him in fluent french, which she had learned from her mother. He smiled at her as he poured the dark liquid into a cup. Sara sat down on a stool near the counter.

"Are you french?" He asked her, also speaking in french.

"My mother is. She taught me." He nodded and took a seat opposite her behind the counter.

"So what do you do?"

"I'm a criminalist. I work crime scenes."

"Must be a difficult job sometimes."

"Sometimes it is. Have you had this place long?"

"Thiry years."

"Wow. Long time. Don't you ever just want a change."

"No. I like my life." She smiled at him. They continued to speak of all sorts of things as she finished her coffee and a second. As she was leaving she turned around to him and asked,

"What's your name?"

"Call me Jimmy."

"Sara." And she left.

Sara woke up to see Claire still sleeping beside her. She brushed some hair out of the womans eyes and went back to sleep.

Ok so not a lot happened ut I felt it was an important chapter. Now I can get back to plot.